A train ticket still reminds me of a fresh glass of chai, sold through windows by unknown hands seconds before departure. Pulley men in distinct red cloth, grabbing luggage and taking it to Platform 4. Crowds walking in every possible direction, equally hurried to begin or finish their journeys. The chaos of an Indian train station is so disorienting, I once almost got left behind in a different city (granted, I was also distracted by a cellphone game). The trauma notwithstanding, something about a long train ride still enchants me. So two weeks ago, instead of a flight, I took an overnight Amtrak from the Bay Area to the Pacific Northwest.
An 18-hour train ride sounds long, but then you fall asleep for a few hours, and it feels shorter. And then you realize there’s no Wi-Fi when you’re supposed to be working, and it feels much longer again. With no other option, I read my copy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy, periodically glimpsing out the window to watch the fog turn into rolling hills, forests, lakes, and back into fog again.
I arrived in Portland, Oregon a few hours earlier than my college housemate Niko, and checked into our hostel. While cooking my Maggi noodles (another common purchase on Indian Railways) I met a couple from Tel Aviv on their honeymoon, a pair of friends from India exploring the West Coast, and a man from China who travels exclusively to run marathons (Portland’s was that weekend). In a city known for micro-breweries, I didn’t even have to leave the hostel before getting a free cider tasting.
Saturday was dedicated to exploring urban Portland. We started at The Oregon Museum of Science and Industry, where Niko and I were humbled by riddles in the kids’ section. We walked over to Portland’s Saturday Market, with a dizzying array of craft goods for sale, and tried the famous Voodoo Donuts. In the evening, we went to a soccer match where the San Diego Waves – featuring the great Alex Morgan – snatched the league’s top spot from the impressive Portland Thorns. Portland calls itself the nation's soccer capital, and the energy in the stadium truly showed.1
The Pacific Northwest weather stayed kind, so on Sunday we explored Portland’s expansive Washington Park, and got to know why it’s called the Rose City.2 Though Niko left on Sunday, I had carved out a bit more time to explore. I had planned a Monday morning city hike, but at 7am I felt uninspired. At 8am, I was on a bus heading over, when I found one remaining spot for an 8:30am tour to the Columbia River Gorge. The meeting point was 30 minutes away. I made it with a minute to spare.
The Columbia River Gorge is known for its many waterfalls. In a car with families, friend groups, and other solo travelers, we explored four of them. We started with the famous Multnomah Falls, Oregon’s tallest waterfall. But perhaps my favorite was the last one, Latourell Falls, with a dazzling background of basalt columns.
Waterfalls are almost perfectly designed to remind us how time actually works. Their presence feels constant and continuous, but they are ever-so-slowly eroding the rock behind them. Changing their landscape, not in the speed of minutes and hours, but with sustained pressure over decades and centuries. Feeling in tune with this old style of travel and time, I bought a postcard of the waterfalls.
From Portland I took a much shorter train to Seattle to visit my high school friend Tim. Awaiting me was a night of card games and all-you-can-eat hot pot, which I hungrily devoured. Unlike Portland I’d visited Seattle once before, and was already a fan. After all, it had all my favorite things. During my week there, I played seven games of pool (more on this here), got bubble tea almost every day (more on this later), and even went to a last-minute Seattle Sounders game (where they scored in the last minute).3 At the Pike Place Market, I bought another postcard.
After a Friday night out, we rallied Saturday morning to hike the infamous Mailbox Peak. There is an older and much steeper route up the mountain, and a newer route that is flatter but longer. Running late on time, we brazenly took the old route, not realizing we would be effectively scaling up a mountain at 45 degrees or more for three hours. What started with confidence ended with near complete exhaustion. Every time we thought we summited, another climb came into view. Physically and psychologically, it was maybe my hardest hike in years.
It was also one of the most breathtaking ones. To distract myself from the incline, I tried looking around and taking it all in. The trees, birds, rocks and people: the Pacific Northwest bioregion I had immersed myself in.
At the top of the mountain was a mailbox filled with memorabilia from past hikers: hats, snacks, toys, and countless stickers.
I’d already shipped my postcards, so instead, we left a train ticket inside.
For a deeper look into how we can better engage with our bioregions, check out my good friend Casey’s Substack and his post from Buenos Aires this week:
For more on global soccer/futbol cultures, read about my journey to Brazil, Argentina, and Kerala here